A Kind of Sanctuary
by Penpusher
Summary: Hermione must use every ounce of her wit and intelligence to do her duty and to safeguard her lover. But what if she has to choose between them?
1. Exposition

"A KIND OF SANCTUARY"  
by Penpusher  
  
Chapter One - Exposition  
  
"You've heard, then."  
  
It wasn't a question. Hermione Granger continued her perusal of a lengthy parchment.  
  
"The Chinese leadership has always been fickle," she replied without raising her eyes. "Their decision to side with Voldemort was scarcely unforeseen."  
  
Her companion gave a snort of derision.  
  
"Fickle?" came the reply. "That's putting it mildly. Still, I suppose the writing was pretty much on the wall when Li Chiang was assassinated. Han Sioux's election to First Mandarin was a done deal; there simply was no one else."  
  
"Harry, you made no mention that Han Sioux was sympathetic to the Dark Empire's politics in any of your reports." Hermione laid down her parchment, her gaze cool and questioning.  
  
"That's because he isn't."  
  
Harry Potter chewed his lip thoughtfully.  
  
"Han Sioux isn't a Dark wizard," he began slowly. "He's just weak, easily led. He's so caught up in his own vanity, he's the archetypal easy target."  
  
"You think he's being manipulated?" Hermione raised a well-shaped eyebrow. Harry nodded firmly.  
  
"I'm sure of it," he replied. "The Council of Mandarins is known for its pragmatism, but the Chinese have generally been for the Light rather than against it."  
  
Hermione shook her head wordlessly. She gestured to the scroll still clutched in her right hand.  
  
"This," she gestured contemptuously to it, "is almost as bad. It's from Michael Korner."  
  
"The guy who used to date Ginny?"  
  
"The guy who's been lobbying on our behalf in New York, Harry," Hermione admonished severely.  
  
"Sorry." Harry's reply was curt and careless. "I don't have much time to read the Daily Prophet these days."  
  
"Then perhaps you should make the time, at least for events of this importance," Hermione told him. "Sometimes, Harry, even for you, the bigger picture is worth the trouble of piecing things together once in a while."  
  
"Okay, okay. You've made your point. So what's Korner's problem?"  
  
"Read and see."  
  
Harry picked up the parchment; the heavy vellum felt warm against his fingertips.  
  
"The Coven leaders say we're being alarmist," he summarised, his eyes scanning quickly over the words. "In other words, America won't take sides - they say it's not their war." Harry broke off with an exasperated sigh.  
  
"For Merlin's sake," he continued with passion. "It's everybody's war! Can't they get it through their thick heads that if we go under, they'll be next?"  
  
Harry crushed the scroll into a ball and slammed his fist hard on the desktop. Hermione sighed.  
  
"Harry, you're not thinking," she replied wearily. "Michael's been working with the American Coven for a year now; he knows the drill. You have to read between the lines in his correspondence to get at the truth, but the gist is fairly clear. He's positive Voldemort has infiltrated the Coven's Ruling Council. Until the mole is identified and neutralised, the Americans daren't make a move either for or against us, for fear of queering the pitch."  
  
"So that's it then, is it? Just Wait and See?" Deeply unimpressed, Harry threw the ball of parchment into a corner of the room with unnecessary violence.  
  
"I take it they've had no luck in ascertaining his or her identity?" he asked wearily.  
  
"Not so far," Hermione sounded resigned. "They're working on it."  
  
"Story of my life at the moment."  
  
There was a silence; neither seemed to have the energy to speak.  
  
"Do you have a place to stay?" Hermione enquired finally.  
  
Harry's green eyes glittered behind his spectacles. An innocuous-enough enquiry to be sure, but for Harry Potter, safe places to stay were always in short supply.  
  
"Actually, Herm," he began awkwardly, "I was wondering whether you.?"  
  
Hermione sighed.  
  
"You know I will, Harry," she told him in a dead, weary voice. "But you're going to have to use the hidey-hole again. The Securitates have been extra vigilant lately; we've had two surprise searches this week alone."  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"I can't stay here, Herm," he told her. "It's too risky. I have to get away - to England, tonight."  
  
Hermione sighed and shook her head.  
  
"Harry, I'm sorry it just can't be done," she replied. "Getting you out of France would involve too much risk to the Embassy. We're already under 24- hour watch. I'm sorry, you'll have to find your own way out this time."  
  
"I don't believe what I'm hearing!" Harry paced, his hands clutching his messy black hair in disbelief. "You would refuse to help me, to give me succour in my hour of need."  
  
"Oh, stop with the hearts and flowers!" Hermione's exasperated explosion revealed a backlog of tension. "You've already caused me a great deal of trouble, Harry Potter. I'm in a very delicate situation as an Ambassador for the Alliance in an occupied country as it is. After I gave in to your most recent plea for help, I found myself under suspicion for aiding and abetting a high-profile escape bid. Harry, really - you could have warned me!"  
  
The last was spoken with heartfelt reproach. Harry hung his head then looked up at her through his lashes, his face creased into a smile.  
  
"But it worked though, didn't it, Herm?" he told her with a trace of his old carefree self. Hermione frowned.  
  
"That's hardly the point!" Fear made her sharper than she intended. "Cornelius was a major-league target, Harry."  
  
"We covered our tracks carefully," he protested.  
  
"I know that," Hermione replied, "and, believe me, I'm grateful. But Lucius Malfoy is just waiting for me to put a toe out of line. He's had promotion, you know."  
  
"Yes, I'd heard." Harry's tone was sour. "Overseer of All Foreign Nationals in Dark Territory, no less, whatever that's supposed to mean. Still the same old licence to kill, maim, imprison and torture with impunity, just more people to terrorise, I guess."  
  
"I think the change of status has gone to his head," agreed Hermione with chagrin. "He was suspicious of me before Cornelius made his dramatic escape; now he's out for my blood. All Lucius needs is one little piece of proof, and I'm done for - and so is this facility."  
  
Hermione paused, her lips thinning into a line.  
  
"I'll do it for you this once, Harry," she replied with a sigh. "Just this once. I'm not only putting my own neck on the block, you realise, but the lives of everyone who lives and works here."  
  
Harry scratched his head, looking everywhere but Hermione's face.  
  
"It's - a bit more complicated than that, Herm," he muttered. "I'm, well, not alone."  
  
"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione muttered. "Harry, if this is some poor waif and stray you've managed to adopt during a mission."  
  
But Harry was shaking his head violently.  
  
"No, Hermione, it's really not like that, I swear," he replied urgently. Then, unable to hold her piercing gaze, he dropped his eyes.  
  
"Well, not exactly," he muttered quietly. Hermione stiffened.  
  
"Potter," she said warningly. He looked up again, earnest and sincere.  
  
"If I don't get them out, they'll die," he said flatly.  
  
"They?" Hermione queried, her heart sinking. Harry nodded reluctantly.  
  
"Who are they?" Hermione sat down at her desk, her legs suddenly unwilling to hold her up any longer.  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
"Four spies, like me, only from India, Armenia and Uzbekistan; a couple of squibs whose memories can't be altered; three Muggles who risk immediate execution on sight for their anti-Empire activities; two underage witches who managed to escape from one of the Malfoy Pleasure Houses ."  
  
"Spies, squibs, Muggles, children - Harry, just how many waifs and strays did you take on?"  
  
".and one Pure-blood wizard," continued Harry as though the interruption had not occurred, "who merits the highest price ever levied by the Dark Empire on the head of an outlaw."  
  
The two old friends stared at one another, eyes curiously open and naked.  
  
"You don't mean." Hermione's voice was suddenly hoarse. "Oh, Harry!"  
  
"They know I'm alive, Herm," he told her soberly. "Pettigrew saw me with his own eyes, for Merlin's sake. I tried to wipe his memory, but the bastard saw me coming and blocked the charm. It's only a matter of time before they pick up my trail, and if they find me, they'll trace me to you and Ron and Neville and Arthur - and Merlin knows who else. If they track me here to the Embassy, they'll simply seal the doors, set fire to the building and laugh while we burn alive."  
  
Harry's breathing was becoming shallow, his eyes burned with the intensity of his words.  
  
"They'll go through their own people with a fine-toothed comb," he told her. "They'll weed out anyone suspected of having any contact with me. Merlin's Balls, Severus Snape has already escaped two purges by the skin of his teeth this year. If I so much as breathe his name under interrogation, he's dead, along with all of his contacts. And I'm not the only one of us with that sort of information!"  
  
Impulsively, Harry stepped behind Hermione's desk to grasp her by the shoulders.  
  
"Hermione, you've got to help us!" he told her, wide-eyed with urgency. "We've got to get out of France, away from Voldemort's creatures. There are others, as well as me who have information He would cheerfully sacrifice His own mother to secure. We can't stay here. For all I know, His Securitates could be on your doorstep as we speak!"  
  
Hermione stared at her former schoolfellow, for once lost for words. Then she pulled herself together.  
  
"Very well, Harry," she said crisply. "You give me no choice. I'll hide you and your companions as best I can until we can get you out - and it won't be tonight, I'll tell you that for nothing. But I warn you, the future of everyone here in this Embassy rests upon your shoulders. You'd better be prepared to take that on your conscience if this thing blows up in our faces."  
  
The two former schoolfellows exchanged a long, penetrating glance.  
  
"I, too, have no choice, Hermione," Harry said quietly. Hermione was the first to look away.  
  
"Get your band of refugees to Basement 3 and into the Room of Requirement as quickly as possible," she ordered, turning to shuffle papers on her desk. Harry gave her a twisted grin.  
  
"Already done, Herm," he replied, with a shrug at her outraged glare. "I couldn't think what else to do with them when I arrived. I'll just go and join them now, shall I?"  
  
Wincing at Hermione's narrowed eyes, Harry groped in his crumpled jacket for his wand preparatory to Apparating.  
  
"Oh, and Hermione?"  
  
"Yes, Harry?" Was there anything else, my liege?  
  
"Thanks." Harry reached out to stroke her hand gently. "For helping us. I won't forget it."  
  
"No, Harry," Hermione replied dryly. "You won't; I can promise you that." 


	2. First Subject

Chapter Two - First Subject  
  
Hermione leaned her head in her hands and let out a long, heartfelt groan. The day was rapidly going downhill, and it was barely lunchtime. Her shoulders slumped; sleep had been a commodity all too rarely attainable lately. Come to think of it, her palms made a soft, comfortable pillow; she could just drift away.  
  
A diffident knock at her door forced Hermione to bring herself back to the present.  
  
"Come!" she called, knowing it would be her Secretary, Office Manager and Gopher, Denis Creevey.  
  
Denis entered the room, the rubber soles of his shoes making no sound on the thinly carpeted floor. Although the younger Creevey was considerably taller and broader now than in his Hogwarts days, he was still smaller in height than Hermione.  
  
"Ambassador," he began, "Thirty minutes ago, Harry Potter and his companions made unauthorised access into the Room of Requirement in Basement 3. I understand, however, that they now have official leave to use the facility and you have made their authorisation retrospective?"  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together hard but refrained from any untoward comment; Denis had a thousand-and-one ways to exact revenge, every one of them different.  
  
"That is correct, Denis," she replied.  
  
"Some of them are in pretty bad shape, Ambassador," Denis continued in a more moderate tone. "They need immediate medical attention. I have taken the liberty of assigning a Mediwizard to them."  
  
Hermione's eyes snapped wide.  
  
"Whom did you ask?" she demanded sharply. Denis gave a small smile.  
  
"Ginny Weasley, of course," came the reply. Hermione's relief was palpable; Denis gave a dry chuckle.  
  
"Ambassador," he said gently. "May I respectfully request that you trust me to perform my offices with the flair and understanding for which you employed me in the first place?"  
  
Hermione's lips twitched again.  
  
"All right, Denis," she replied. "I should really stop barking, shouldn't I? Now that I've got myself a first class guard dog!"  
  
Denis gave a moue of mock-annoyance at the description, but his resulting smile robbed the expression of any seriousness.  
  
"There is, however, one small problem." Denis' fingers clutched the edges of his clipboard against Hermione's temper. He looked up.  
  
"We have cast as many Normality Charms as we can on the Room," he told her. "Colonel Potter is certain that he can maintain the smokescreen for as long as eight hours with little or no strain. Our problem is that Empire techno-wizardry is now so effective that even the redoubtable Harry can go no higher than a 60 per cent camouflage without detection. Any more, and the Securitates will be on us in a heartbeat. If we can keep them out of the basements, I believe they'll find nothing untoward on the premises. However, if they insist on searching the lowest levels, then we absolutely must keep them away from B3, or the jig will be well and truly up."  
  
Denis looked back at his notes and sighed.  
  
"A pity Alastor Moody isn't with us any more," he remarked, making a few check marks in the margin.  
  
"Too true," sighed Hermione, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension in her neck. "He knew more about Confundus Charmwork than the whole of the Ministry put together."  
  
Abruptly, there was a rush of flames in Hermione's fireplace. She and Denis turned automatically to see the worried face of one of the front lobby receptionists.  
  
"Ambassador," squeaked the young witch. "We've got a bit of a situation in the building. There's a group of - of, well, Death Eaters on their way up. They wouldn't wait, and they ignored Security. Short of putting our lives on the line, we couldn't."  
  
"All right, Melanie, thank you." Hermione's tone was firm but reassuring. "I'll take it from here. Inform security from me that they are not to blame for this unwarranted intrusion."  
  
The girl's face relaxed into a relieved expression and her image winked out. Hermione turned to Denis, her eyebrows raised enquiringly, but there was no time for speech. They both turned as the office door opened abruptly admitting a group of six tall figures, all cloaked and hooded in the Death Eater uniform of the Securitates; the Military Police. Two black- clad figures peeled off from the main group, stationing themselves either side of the office door. Another, flanked by two acolytes, approached Hermione's desk; he was evidently the spokesman for the group.  
  
"Ambassador Granger," the man began, his voice at once reedy and muffled by the hood. "We have reason to believe that a group of rebel spies have taken refuge in the Alliance Embassy building within the last hour or so. We are prepared to accept your ignorance of the entire matter if you will undertake to hand the miscreants over to us without further ado. If you co- operate fully, we will use every means at our disposal to ensure that no blame attaches to the Embassy or to you personally. However, should you choose not to co-operate, the consequences could be serious, particularly to someone in your delicate political position."  
  
Oh, yes! Hermione was not impressed. Every means at your disposal? As soon as you've got them, you'll close us down. Just the merest hint of insubordination would be enough for Lucius Malfoy to execute each and every one of us!  
  
"I'm sorry, I really have no idea what you are talking about," Hermione replied composedly. She nodded swiftly to Denis. "Would you care for refreshment? Coffee, tea - I'm afraid we have no butterbeer, but perhaps it's too early in the day for you?"  
  
The hooded figure gave a soft hiss.  
  
"Ambassador," he began, with an emphasis on her title bordering on the insulting. "Ambassador, may I remind you that you are in occupied territory. You have a duty to your staff and to your country, not to mention the government of this land, to avoid any and all collaboration with rebel nationals, squibs and Muggle-borns."  
  
"Which would be a difficult task for me to fulfil," Hermione interrupted, with an edge to her voice like a scalpel. "Seeing as my own parents are Muggles."  
  
The shudder of horror that passed through the spokesman's body was visible to all present.  
  
"I was aware of your." he began in strangled tones, ".pedigree, and it behoves you not at all to."  
  
A gloveless hand landed on the man's shoulder, effectively silencing his speech. The sixth hooded figure, motionless until now, inclined his head towards the spokesman, murmuring close to his ear. During the pause that followed, Hermione found herself examining the hand without any thought as to why. It was pale and slender with very long fingers and pale, oval nails. The colourless skin made the fingers look almost transparent, fragile and delicate.  
  
"My Lord," the spokesman protested in shocked tones. "It is my function to protect those of noble blood from the contamination of having to converse with such as these. You cannot wish to sully yourself by communicating with this woman in any other manner than through me."  
  
The man broke off with a whimper of pain; those frail fingers pressed tendon to bone with a vice-like grip that would have done justice to a manticore.  
  
"Just go and wait by the door, Marley, there's a good chap," a low, cultured voice murmured. "You wouldn't want me to accidentally dislocate your shoulder, now would you?"  
  
The hand released its grip and Marley sagged in relief and fright. Gingerly, he massaged the hurt muscles, cowering as he retreated towards the doorway. The other figure did not so much as twitch.  
  
Hermione was puzzled. Automatically, she had begun to rise from her desk but this strange, muted act of violence had frozen her part way. Now she completed the action and stood undaunted, head held high as she confronted the faceless hood.  
  
"Who are you, sir?" she asked politely. The Death Eater did not reply, but merely lifted the edge of his hood and cast it back over his shoulders. Pale blonde hair emerged, long and tied in an intricate knot at the base of his neck. Delicate, almost feminine facial bones gave the face an ethereal beauty. Silver-grey eyes regarded her coolly below eyebrows so pale they were almost non-existent. His face was impassive. Hermione's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.  
  
"Malfoy," Hermione gasped, truly surprised. "Draco Malfoy? Great Merlin, I thought you were dead!"  
  
The thin lips twisted in a faint smile that could have been a smirk; Draco Malfoy bowed respectfully to the Ambassador for the Alliance. 


	3. Second Subject

Chapter Three - Second Subject  
  
"May I sit down?"  
  
His expression bland and courteous, Malfoy drew a visitor's chair towards Hermione's desk and lowered himself into it, leaning one elbow on the arm.  
  
At that moment, Hermione's emotions ran the gamut from astonishment bordering on stupefaction to extreme anger and disgust. Her vision almost greyed out as she took in the implications of this new development. Pausing for a moment, she took a deep breath through her nose as a wave of sickness threatened to overwhelm her.  
  
"Coffee, Denis," she said quietly, without taking her eyes from the figure before her. Her voice betrayed none of her inner turmoil. Wide-eyed, Denis scuttled over to a small sideboard, wand at the ready; Hermione made a private note to ball him out later for failing to give her prior warning of this little piece of intelligence.  
  
"Don't be too hard on him," her guest drawled as if reading her mind. Hermione stared; Malfoy shrugged.  
  
"My transfer was only confirmed last night," he told her. "My rank is now Inquisitor Senior, but I am attached to the Chinese Office, and only seconded to Paris for a limited time."  
  
Small mercies, and all that. Hermione started to breathe again. Denis levitated two steaming coffee cups to her desk, the spoons rattling slightly in their saucers.  
  
If Draco Malfoy noticed that the concoction he was served had been brewed largely from chicory leaves, he gave no outward sign. His face remained deadpan as he slowly swallowed the hot liquid and his watchful eyes studied Hermione carefully over the rim of his cup. Hermione smiled with a certain weary satisfaction; coffee was scarce, and she would not waste what little they had left on a Death Eater.  
  
Once the refreshments were consumed, Hermione was the first to break the ensuing silence.  
  
"So," she began, placing her wand in front of her on the desk and folding her hands together over it in the classic wizards' posture for parley. "Draco Malfoy returns from the dead; interesting. It must be, what, four - five years since that little incident in Borneo that apparently robbed the Malfoy bloodline of its heir?"  
  
The blond man smiled but without any real humour.  
  
"Four years," he replied succinctly. "And many scars, both physical and mental. Borneo is a hostile place. I am indeed fortunate to be alive today."  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows but declined to make any further comment.  
  
"And you, Dr. Granger," Malfoy continued, fixing her with a keen stare. "What attracts you to this particularly dangerous part of the world? Dangerous for Muggle-borns, that is. Surely the Ministry could have found you a nice cosy little sinecure somewhere in London, or even Moscow?"  
  
Hermione maintained her polite lack of expression without effort, but elected to make no answer. He just wants you to know that his Intelligence is as good as yours.  
  
After a moment, Malfoy's thin lips curved into a small smile.  
  
"But of course!" He leaned back in his chair, raising his arms to cup the back of his head. "The revered Dr. Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin Second Class, would never bury herself in a backwoods. You would always have to be in the centre, moving and shaking, using your formidable intelligence and stubborn persistence to make a real difference where it matters."  
  
Malfoy uncrossed his legs and leaned forward intently.  
  
"All of which makes me wonder why you are here in France, Dr. Granger," he said curiously. "What is it that makes this country so interesting to you?"  
  
Hermione raised a slightly surprised eyebrow.  
  
"I would have thought that was obvious," she replied, trying to ignore the rise of her breath. "France is a border country. Many people here need help and assistance to co-exist with the Empire government. My function is to provide that support."  
  
"Yes, indeed." Malfoy stroked his smooth-shaven chin. "But there are countless such countries now that our glorious Empire has spread its wings. France is but one of many." He continued to hold her gaze steadily throughout the pause that followed.  
  
To her horror, Hermione felt a bead of perspiration slide slowly from her temple towards her ear. She forced down stirrings of panic, her carefully maintained expression of polite enquiry congealing on stiff facial muscles. Still she did not speak.  
  
Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed and a gleam of triumph, or was it discovery, escaped him. Eyes never leaving Hermione's face, he picked up his empty cup and held it towards a wide-eyed Denis.  
  
"If I may," Malfoy said smoothly, "I would very much appreciate a second cup of your delicious coffee."  
  
Hermione had no time for surprise. For the second time that morning, flames leaped in her fireplace.  
  
"Melanie," Hermione snapped sharply. "I distinctly told you to hold all calls!"  
  
"Ambassador, I know you did," apologised the young witch. "But this is a sensitive communication, a Priority Call."  
  
Hermione paused to absorb this, and then she nodded her head.  
  
"Very well," she replied. "Patch it through."  
  
Sliding her wand from her sleeve holster, Hermione turned to face Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Please forgive the interruption," she apologised. "I will ascertain the substance of this call and see if I can postpone it. Dissimulo!"  
  
Draco Malfoy sat back in his chair, swilling the cold dregs of his coffee around in its plain white cup. Denis quickly retrieved and replenished it, smiling nervously. Malfoy accepted the refill politely, his eyes still on Hermione. He knew that the Dissimulo spell gave total privacy and was impenetrable, so he did not bother to eavesdrop. Instead he watched the Ambassador's face, trying to decipher her cryptic body language. It seemed to Malfoy that she took rather longer than was necessary to ascertain the identity of her caller. Or perhaps it was simply the sheer awfulness of the "coffee" made it seem that way. What did they put into the stuff to make it taste so vile? Were things so bad with the Alliance that even their Ambassador couldn't afford the real thing?  
  
"Recludo!" Hermione slid her wand smoothly into its sleeve sheath and turned to face the Inquisitor Senior. Her face was pale.  
  
"Lord Malfoy," she said formally. "I regret that I must terminate this interview forthwith. The Minister for Magic awaits my return call - it was only the mention of your name that secured me some brief time to curtail our meeting with dignity."  
  
Draco Malfoy rose fluidly out of the office chair and reached for his cloak. The two Securitates either side of Hermione's office door snapped to attention.  
  
"Unfortunately," he replied, with the merest hint of a smile, "even I must make way for the Minister of Magic."  
  
Malfoy settled his cloak elegantly around his shoulders but left the hood thrown back.  
  
"Ambassador, may I have your permission to return later today in order to continue our discussions?" he asked politely. Hermione gave a slight shrug.  
  
"Lord Malfoy," she replied. "As you are well aware, I am in no position to deny you an audience whenever you care to visit the Embassy."  
  
Malfoy nodded in agreement.  
  
"This is true," he replied gravely. "But to a Malfoy, common civility demands that I make this a request, not a demand."  
  
"Indeed?" Hermione arched her eyebrows. "Even to a Mudblood?"  
  
Malfoy winced almost involuntarily at the coarseness of her language, and had the grace to look a little shamefaced.  
  
"Ambassador, I would be betraying myself and my own values," he replied with dignity, "if I were to treat you with anything other than the respect due to your rank and status."  
  
Draco Malfoy clicked his heels together and gave a neat little bow.  
  
"Until later then," he told her, donning black leather gloves over those deceptively fragile hands.  
  
With military precision, the cohort of Securitates left Hermione's office, closing the door behind them. There was a moment's pause then Hermione let out a shaking breath, sharing with Denis a look of intense relief. She jerked her head towards the door and turned to the fireplace, reaching for her wand. Denis, with the ease of long practice, promptly cast privacy spells over all the entrances and exits.  
  
"Damn! She's put up Wards." Marley sheathed his wand, frowning in annoyance.  
  
"Of course she has." Malfoy gave him a contemptuous look. "Hermione Granger was the cleverest witch of her generation at Hogwarts. She is also one of the most practical, down to earth people I have ever met. You don't for one moment believe that she would let a little piece of slime like you steal a march on her, do you?"  
  
Marley stared in surprise, hardly crediting his superior's words.  
  
"But, My Lord," he protested. "You only have her word that the Minister was waiting to speak to her; there's no proof one way or another. And with these Privacy spells in place, she could be speaking to anyone ."  
  
Marley's voice choked off as a hand gripped the neck of his cloak and lifted him bodily from the floor. His feet dangled helplessly and small sounds of distress issued from his rapidly purpling face.  
  
"The Alliance Ambassador in France must be granted the privacy she is due under the terms of the Truce," Draco Malfoy told him conversationally. "The Truce also forbids any interference by Securitates or any other Empire officers in her official duties. And conversation with her direct superior is, by my interpretation, an official duty. Do you understand me?"  
  
The hapless Spokesman nodded with difficulty.  
  
"Are you certain?"  
  
A strangled squawk was the only reply possible through swollen lips.  
  
"Good boy."  
  
Malfoy opened his hand and let the man fall to the floor, turning on his heel in distaste at the frenzied gasping and gagging. As he crossed in front of the Ambassador's office, he caught sight of her impassive face through the glass panel. The Privacy spells prevented him from seeing who was in the fireplace of course, but he noted that the call was brief and to the point, and Hermione curtailed it as quickly as possible. 


End file.
